


Hate, But Not Really

by satanic_panic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanic_panic/pseuds/satanic_panic
Summary: Quentin never wanted a roommate, but a mistake by the university means that he's stuck with you.





	Hate, But Not Really

Letting out a huff of annoyance, Quentin dropped his bags outside the door to the University-owned flat he was going to be staying in for the duration of his engineering course; he had asked to be housed alone, but when he opened the door and saw you, he furrowed his brows, clearing his throat. 

“You must be Quentin, right?” You asked, offering your hand as you turned around and smiled at him. 

He shook your hand, nodding slowly, making a mental note to talk to Pepper Potts, the person in charge of housing and funding, at some point in the day. “Yeah… and you are?”

Your smile was amazing, he had to admit, and the way you spoke definitely caught his attention, too. “(Y/N)... they told me to expect you and explain that, basically, they fucked up, so we’re stuck with each other.” 

Quentin swallowed thickly, letting out a grumble and shrugging as he went to grab his bag and put it on his half of the flat; thankfully, the large bedroom had been converted into two smaller ones, but even though you had told him why he wasn’t alone, Quentin still wanted to go and speak to Potts. Unpacking his bag, he sighed, shaking his head, just as he was putting a folded up jumper into his chest of drawers, the door opened, and you peered in. “What?”

“Snappy,” you noted with a hum and a nod. “I was gonna go grab a coffee, if you wanna join?”

Grumbling, he turned away. “No.” 

\---

Sitting down beside the window, you sighed as you looked at your best friend, Matt, whose red glasses showed you just how bad you looked in the reflection. 

“You’re stressed,” he noted, able to hear your heartbeat. “What’s wrong?”

“My new roommate,” you explained, “he’s… he seems like an asshole, and I still don’t understand why they didn’t just put me with you and Foggy.” 

Matt shrugged, he had a few guesses as to why, but he was unsure of whether any of them were actually the real reason. With a chuckle, he smiled a little, and said, “maybe it’s because they heard what we were like as teenagers.” 

You rolled your eyes at his remark, shaking your head. “Maybe, yeah… but, d’you think you’d be able to talk to Pepper for me? She’ll listen to you.” 

He frowned a little, letting out a sigh. “Doubtful, maybe in a couple of months, but with everyone just starting, I don’t think she’ll have time to look over a request like that.” 

\---

“I simply don’t have the time to look over your request,” Pepper said as she looked at Quentin from across her desk. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted, but you’re going to have to get used to (y/n) being your roommate.” 

Quentin frowned a little, nodding as he stood up. “Thanks.” 

As he walked out of her office, he thought about how much money he would need to get himself a flat outside of the student housing, but as he chalked up the amount, he realised that he couldn’t do such a thing; without being able to afford anything else, Quentin told himself to just tough it out, to put up with you until the year was over, at the very least. He wasn’t used to being civil, to being in a confined space with someone he didn’t know, but he told himself to just play nice. 

When he got back into the flat, and saw you sitting on the sofa, he cleared his throat, and dared to sit beside you. 

“Listen-”

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” Quentin grumbled, not caring that he had interrupted you. “If we’re gonna be living together, we might as well get to know each other better, right?”

You shrugged, and agreed. “Yeah, I s’pose, but listen, my friend Foggy heard about this… thing happening just outside of town, in an overgrown field, and I was thinking, maybe, it would be a good chance for me and you to, y’know, hang out. Like you said, get to know each other better.” 

He nodded, swallowing thickly and shrugging as he leaned into the slightly uncomfortable sofa. “Sure. When is it?”

You checked your phone, smiling a little when a text from Billy came through, but you ignored it, quickly checking the time. “In about two, three hours.” 

Quentin pretended not to notice the way you had smiled when you saw the text as he looked at his own phone, acting as if he was texting someone important, when really, he was trying to distract himself on social media. 

\---

Arriving at the overgrown field, Quentin stayed a couple of steps behind you as you lead him to the long, collapsable, drinks table; from water to whisky to wine to various non-alcoholic “mixer” drinks, there was no shortage of anything to drink or get drunk on, and Quentin found himself looking at you with a hidden concern - sure, he had only known you a fair few hours, but something in him told him to keep an eye on you tonight, keep you safe. He was debating on whether or not to pour himself a drink, when a tall, good-looking, man with dark brown eyes and a killer smile approached, grinning from ear to ear at you. 

“Billy!” You smiled, rushing forward and hugging him tightly; an aching form of jealousy sat itself in Quentin’s stomach when he looked upon the scene, quickly turning away and grabbing a bottle of beer, snapping the cap off and quickly gulping down half of it in an attempt to take his mind away from you, and how you seemed so happy to be beside Billy. 

“Hey, princess,” he purred, kissing your cheek before turning to Quentin. “Who’s your friend?” 

You cleared your throat, looking between the two men. “Billy, this is Quentin, my roommate; Quentin, this is Billy.” 

Quentin nodded, offering up the illusion of being happy to meet your friend. “Nice to meet you.” 

Billy shook his hand, tensing up slightly. “Likewise.” 

Clearing your throat, you suggested that, perhaps, the duo would like to go find somewhere to sit while you went off to get a joint off of Eddie Brock, one of the new journalism students who was on the last year of his course and was known to dabble in dealing drugs from time to time; while you went and searched, Billy and Quentin found a spot out of the way, a little more private compared to the mass crowd a few feet away where it seemed as if half of the university had gathered to drink and smoke and party all night long. 

“So, are you and (y/n) a couple?” Quentin asked, looking at Billy and trying to ignore the stabbing jealousy in his stomach. 

Billy shook his head, smirking. “No. (Y/N)’s my… well, I’m planning on just sleeping with her, and then fucking off.” 

Quentin clenched his jaw, not really knowing why a surge of anger and envy was coursing through his veins. “Does she know?” 

Billy, again, shook his head, lying down on the overgrown grass, stretching his legs out and leaning on his arms. “(Y/N) doesn’t even know I’m seeing three other people.” 

The need, the want, the desire, Quentin felt to punch Billy in the face was nearly overwhelming, but he didn’t act on it, he couldn’t, as there was no way he could explain why, there was no excuse for him to make up that would have been believable. 

\---

As days went by, Quentin found himself tolerating your presence, even getting relaxed around you at certain points in time, sometimes he would even allow himself to make a sarcastic joke here and there that made you smile, but he seemed haunted; his conversation with Billy Russo kept replaying at the back of his mind like a vicious melody, ripping apart his thoughts and biting at his brain. He ended up forgetting about the fact that he was trying to move out of the shared flat, to a place of his own. He regretted not punching Russo when he had the chance. 

It was a Friday night, with a three day weekend ahead due to a bank holiday, and you were preparing for a date with Billy; the bathroom door was open as you fixed your hair, Quentin leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and his cobalt eyes fixed on you - his glances and gazes and glares were no longer icy cold, but they weren't particularly warm, either. 

"I still don't get why you don't just stay in tonight." 

You rolled your eyes at the comment, having to explain for the hundredth time. "Because, Billy's my boyfriend, Quentin, and as much as I would  _ adore  _ to hear you making snarky comments during Eastenders, I'd prefer to have a little romance in my life." 

'Romance'. The word made Quentin scoff as he shook his head; he knew Russo was only going to break your heart, and in his own sly ways, he wanted to prevent that - for what reason, he couldn't be sure, but a gut feeling and a whispering thought told him to go with it. "You realise romance is dead, right?" 

You chuckled a little, turning to him with a dazzling smile upon your lips. "Maybe for you it is, Prince Charming, but for me, it's very much alive and well." 

When you placed your hand on his shoulder, Quentin couldn't help but to clench his jaw a little. "You coming home tonight?" 

You shrugged, letting out a tenderly curious hum. "Maybe… maybe not. I'll let you know, so that if I don't, you can lock up." 

Watching you leave, Quentin felt a sort of hollow feeling sink deep into his bones that made him somehow feel ten times heavier, as if concrete slabs had been tied to his shoulders to weigh him down; he did his best to shake off the feeling, but it never truly went away. 

\--- 

Billy took you to the nicest restaurant in town, lavish and drowning in luxury, and when you asked how he managed to afford it, he offered a vague answer about how the owner was indebted to him; it made you a little uneasy, but not so much that you thought anything bad of the situation. However, after a few drinks, Billy had darted off to the bathroom, leaving his phone on the table; it lit up, vibrating incessantly and with need, the picture of a perfectly pretty blonde staring at you. Hesitating, you picked up. 

"Billy! Hi!" The pretty person sang. "Listen, I know you had plans tonight, but… I was wondering if you could come over?" They paused to let out a soft laugh and a noise of excitement. "I bought handcuffs… Billy? Billy, are you even listening to me?" 

You were on the verge of tears as you replied in a broken and quiet voice, "Billy isn't here, right now." 

There was a pause. "Oh? Then who's this?" 

You nearly let out a choked sob. "(Y/N), Billy's… Billy's girlfriend." 

There was a scoff of anger. "That lying son of a bitch! He told me he was fucking single!" The harshness of the blonde's tone sweetened a little. "Sweetie, I am so sorry… really, I am, Billy Russo is a disgusting fucking cheat, and I'm done with him - you should drop his ass, too." 

You couldn't be angry at the person on the other end of the line, not when they had been fooled into falling for the cheating, lying, scoundrel Billy Russo, too. "Thanks…" 

"If you ever need anything," the blonde continued, "just text or call me, okay? I know we don't know each other, but-" 

"It's okay," you sniffled. "Thank you." 

"I am so sorry." Were the final words before you hung up; a moment or two later, Billy finally returned, brows knitting together when he saw you, on the verge of tears, holding his phone. 

"You okay, princess?" 

The sadness and betrayal and anger all mixing together as you looked at the man you thought loved you. "I just got off of the phone with a someone you've been fucking behind my back… how could you, Billy? How could you sit there, and tell me you cared for me, when you're fucking someone else?" 

He knew he had been caught, no amount of lies or pulling of strings or intimidation or manipulation could get him out of it, either. "I do care." 

Standing up, you threw his phone against his chest, shaking your head before calmly leaving; hot on your heels, Billy chased you down the street, begging for you to stop. But you didn't, and when you got back to your flat, you slammed the door in his face. Sinking down with your back against the door, you let out a loud sob, burying your face against your knees; having just gotten out of the shower, Quentin furrowed his brows and calmly sat down beside you. 

"He broke your heart." 

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," you sobbed. "Just… leave me alone, Quentin, I'm not in the mood." 

Quentin let out a heavy sigh. "Come on, honey, don't be fucking rain on the parade." 

You let out a scoff, lifting your head up and looking him in the eyes, cheeks damp with still falling tears, nose blocked from snot, eyes puffy and red and welled up like clouds during a storm. "Oh, I'm fucking  _ sorry _ I ruined your good mood - next time a boyfriend cheats on me, I'll just be  _ so fucking happy  _ about it, shall I?" 

Rolling his eyes, Quentin frowned a little. "I didn't mean it like that." He stood up, shaking his head. "Earl Grey or normal?" 

"What?" 

He repeated the question. "Earl Grey or normal?" 

"No- Earl Grey…" you answered eventually, furrowing your brows when he went off into the little kitchen area; the kettle flicked on, the sound of mugs clinking as they were brought down from the cupboard, the soft crunch of a spoon dipping into the sugar pot, followed by metal against ceramic. Your eyes were so infested with tears that you couldn't see a thing through the blurry poison. 

After a while, a mug was gently pressed into your hand, and Quentin sat down beside you once more; the smell of your Earl Grey tea was almost as strong as the scent of his coffee. An uneasy silence filled the flat, with the exception of the leaks of noise from outside, cars darting down the road, people shouting and drunkenly singing out of tune, dogs barking and howling, cats hissing and yowling; Quentin waited for you to calm down a bit before he spoke up again. 

"So, what are you gonna do? About Billy?" 

You shrugged, a wave of numbness and apathy coming to lay across your shoulders. "Nothing. He doesn't deserve my thoughts, my time, nothing. I'm just gonna forget about him, and move on." 

"You're not even gonna get revenge?" Quentin asked, his tone radiating shock and a little bit of confusion; had it been him in your shoes, he would have made sure that the cheating party paid the full price for their actions. 

You shook your head, taking a sip from your mug. "One, damn good tea, thank you… two, no. It's just a waste of time, energy, and emotion." 

"One, you're welcome, honey," Quentin replied, "two, want  _ me  _ to do the whole revenge thing?" 

Letting out a sweet and soft and sad chuckle, you placed your hand on his shoulder, fingertips so light but so burdened. "No, it's fine… thanks, though." 

\--- 

You wound up sleeping in Quentin's bed that night, cuddled up to him like he was an oversized teddy bear, you had craved something to hold onto, someone for comfort, and he was… he agreed, on the condition that you made breakfast in the morning; however, he wound up waking up before you, and after carefully untangling himself from your embrace, Quentin made a start on breakfast. When it was ready and dished up, you refused to budge from the bed, refused to eat; in fact, all of Saturday you spent cuddled beneath the duvet in Quentin's bed, but when you asked him if he wanted you to leave it, he shook his head and said it was fine. 

Saturday melted into Sunday, which mutated into Monday, and through your haze of numbness and apathy and fatigue, the rest of the week trickled by like dripping honey. 

Matt and Foggy visited you between classes, always understanding and empathetic, somehow, they would get you to eat something, drink some water, change your clothes; multiple times, Foggy told you that he had had to yank Matt into classrooms or down hallways because he had smelled Billy's perfume and almost caused a fight. It always made you crack a little broken smile, the thought of Matt catching a whiff of your ex's perfume and immediately snapping and snarling like a feral dog; Matt had always been down to fight for you, though, many nights as teenagers were spent in the emergency department of hospitals because he had gotten busted up in a fight over protecting you - sometimes, you even thought Matt's one true calling and fate was to become a vigilante, the way he was so Hell-bent on justice and doing the right thing. No wonder he took law. 

Quentin had lied to your lecturers on your behalf, telling them all you were terribly sick, and that he would make sure you got the work when they handed it to him; but, he left the stacks of paper on the coffee table, allowing the pile to grow as the days went by… they dripped so slowly, until the day you eventually got out of bed. 

You started off by showering, then eating an apple, drinking a cup of coffee, and joining Quentin on the sofa; you were catching up with all the work you had missed, when you realised that, throughout the days you had refused to leave the flat, he had been there, he had lied for you, and had stuck up for you, and even looked after you. 

"Thanks…" 

Quentin looked at you, shook his head, then looked at the television. "It's fine." 

How was he supposed to admit that he had begun to develop quite the impressive soft spot for you? 

"No, I mean it," you sighed, capturing his gaze again as you cracked a broken smile. "Thank you, for… for everything you've done, Quentin." 

He shrugged, licking his lips as he looked at you with more warmth than usual. "It's fine, really, honey. How are you feeling?" 

You shrugged, sighing heavily as you put your pen down. "Not great, but better." 

He nodded slowly as if words would never be enough for him to show that, somewhere in his heart of ice and sea of bad temper, he cared; of course he did. Of course he cared about you, the roommate he didn't want but ended up getting stuck with, the person he hated most at University but ended up bonding. Growing fond of. Hating, but not really. 

He swallowed thickly. "Better's good." 

Comfortable silence fell soon after, you silently doing your work until you could no longer keep track of your thoughts, Quentin watching the television but stealing glances at you far too often for it to be mere concern; or, perhaps it was, perhaps it was concern for a friend… no, that was a stupid thought. Quentin didn't have friends. He had people he tolerated. People he didn't particularly care about, but would still dislike it if they weren't around. To Quentin, the people at University were a rotten crowd, but you… you were worth every single one of them put together, and then some; you evoked a sort of tender curiosity within his chest and at the back of his head, beckoning him closer, to learn more, to see more and experience more of you; he yearned to see the good days as much as the bad, he craved the knowledge of knowing your thoughts, your motives, your fears and what excited you, the things that made you happy. 

Thinking about it a little more deeply, Quentin toyed and played with the idea that maybe he did think of you as a little more than a friend, a lot more than just a roommate; after all, he cared for you - and other than himself, he didn't care for any soul. Maybe a small shred of his soul had been captured by you, taken prisoner. 

Yawning and stretching, you placed your finished work on the coffee table, and shifted a little bit closer to Quentin as you softly spoke, "maybe it would do us both some good to run away for the night… y'know, escape into the world for an hour or two." 

Looking down at you, Quentin raised a brow; the ice in his usually arctic eyes nearly completely melted like snow at the beginning of spring. "Honey, it's five o'clock in the evening. Nothing's gonna be open." 

You shook your head and rolled your eyes at his comment as you pulled away. "I wasn't aware that the streets shut at a certain time." 

"What do you mean?" 

"A walk," you explained, "come on… we can go for a walk for a little while, just to get out and about." 

He thought about it for a moment. 

"Fine." 

\--- 

Autumn was certainly well on it's way, the air had a certain chill to it as the evening breeze whispered, giving secrets to the trees and the stars and the moon, the streets were all but deserted, save the few elderly couples who held hands as they walked with their spouses and partners and loves, the roads were silent, ghostly and haunted by parked cars outside of dimly lit houses where the curtains were drawn so tightly that they may as well have been made of iron; in the navy sky, a few thick clouds were splashed here and there, so dark and grey they almost seemed melancholic against the brightly glittering stars that shone in the same way as polished silver, the moon was sat up on its lonely throne, gazing down at the world with a soft and tender look. The street lamps, orange and hazy, standing tall like soldiers, guided you and Quentin along the pavement, pointing out the cracks, the puddles, and the general mess; your arm was linked with his, in such close proximity that it could have been seen that you and Quentin were a couple out for an evening stroll. The conversation ranged from habits and jokes and jovial subjects, to sadness and woe and deeper and darker topics; when the subject of relationships came up, you withdrew a little. Quentin had seen it, of course, and had done his best to make it seem as though he was just making conversation, and eventually, you opened up again, blooming for him like the most desired of daffodils, brightly beautiful. 

"I think I just always fall for the bad guys, y'know? The ones who are bound to break my heart and fuck me up and over… I don't think I'm designed for love." 

Quentin let out a scoff as he looked up at the sky for a moment, then his gaze dropped to you, warm, no ice. "That's a bunch of bullshit. Everyone's designed for love… you, especially." 

You shrugged off his comment as nothing more than him trying to assure you that there was still a chance that the right person would be out there for you, the right soul to match your own. "A couple of weeks ago, you said romance was dead." 

"And it is," he shrugged with a chuckle. "Doesn't mean love doesn't exist, though… look at you and Matt - there's clearly love between you two, but there's no romance because it's not that kind of love." 

"I like romance…" you sighed. "Or, at least, I used to." 

An idea struck Quentin, then, as he dropped your arm and stepped in front of you, a certain look in his cobalt eyes you couldn't quite put your finger on. 

"I'll show you romance, honey, I'll revive it - just for you." 

You furrowed your brows, suspicious and sceptical of his plans and his words, but also incredibly curious. "Why?" 

Quentin smirked, licking his lips. "Because it'll prove I'm smarter than you." 

It was a joke, that much was true, and although he did often believe that he was the smartest in the room, Quentin did also think of you as his intellectual equal. 

You let out a soft chuckle. "Alright, you're on." 

\--- 

After buying vegetarian burgers from a little chip shop that was still open, Quentin took you to the local park; he laid down his jacket, but not before pulling a book from the inside pocket, and allowed you to sit on it as you ate and watched him. 

"The Great Gatsby," he began, "one of literature's finest romances, right?" 

With your mouth full of food, you shook your head. "Not really, Quentin." 

He rolled his eyes, taking a bite from his burger and quickly chewing and swallowing so he could get to the point. "Besides the point… have you ever had someone look at you the way Gatsby looked at Daisy?" 

"B-" 

"Don't fucking say Billy." He warned, although there was a slight humour to his voice. 

You smiled, rolling your eyes. "Before you go on a proper rant, can you sit down and eat with me?" 

Without even a spot of hesitation, Quentin sat down beside you, placing the book on his lap as he ate, in relatively comfortable, silence with you; as you allowed the food to sink in, Quentin couldn't help but to notice how your eyes sparkled in the moon and the stars, so beautiful that they challenged and rivalled the way daffodils looked in sunshine and rivers ran in summer. You were breathtaking, he realised. He had never thought much about your looks, although he couldn't deny that, from the first day he met you, he had thought your smile to be amazing. 

"Fuck…" he whispered, forgetting to hold and catch his tongue between his teeth. 

You looked at him, tender and curious, tilting your head a little to the side. "What? Pepper in my tooth?" 

Shaking his head, Quentin cleared his throat; he looked at you the same way Gatsby looked at Daisy. He directed his gaze to the stretches of grass that went to the dark horizon. "Nothing." 

Placing your hand on his shoulder, you offered a sweet smile. "Tell me, please?" 

"Are you sure you wanna know?" He asked, still not daring to look at you, but his eyes had grown wet… as if some great tragedy was about to strike, as if some downpour of rain was going to make its way down his cheeks at any given moment. The ice had thawed and melted, and left puddles in the blue, woeful, confines of his eyes - he had never considered that, when the ice melted, it would leave behind some splashes of water. 

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you moved a little closer. "I'm sure." 

Gathering up his thoughts, Quentin explained to you that, for the first little while of knowing you, he had hated you more than anything, but something had changed; as he grew to know you, as he grew to understand you, he had developed an impressive soft spot for you. He never said the words, but by the way he spoke, the words he used and the lack of ice in his eyes, you knew he was telling you that he loved you; Quentin Beck, the man who had never wanted to have a roommate in the first place, had fallen in love with you. He loved you. He had swallowed part of his pride, and without even saying the three words, had told you he loved you. "I'm gonna go." 

"Wait," you caught his arm, gently coaxing him back down to sit beside you. "Listen, if we… if we start this… this affair, relationship, whatever you wanna call it… I feel like I have to warn you that, that I won't be that great at it, I mean… fuck, with all the shit that happened with Billy, I… I can't see myself being able to, y'know-" 

"I know." Quentin nodded, so close that he could feel your breath on his skin as he loved down at your lips, an urge bubbling and brewing inside of him to just lean forward and kiss you, feel your lips on his for the first time. "If you're not ready, I can wait, honey." 

You pressed your hand to the back of his neck, and pulled him close so that your forehead was touching his; you never noticed it before, the stars and the moon were mere specks of dust compared to the beauty of his eyes. You smiled a little. "I'm ready." 

Lacing his hands in your hair, fingers buried amongst the strands, Quentin captures your lips with his; it was a frightening kiss, as it was soft and gentle and chaste. He still regretted not punching Billy Russo all those nights ago. But, right now, all Quentin worried about was keeping you, you staying and being his for as long as possible. 


End file.
